Solace
by Azkabella
Summary: Clara receives a knock on her door on New Year's Eve. Takes place before/after The Time of the Doctor (aka here be spoilers... ish)


**A/N: **I hope this isn't a terrible mess, but I needed to write this because of reasons.

You know that feeling you get whenever months seem to fly by in the blink of an eye and hours stretch on for what feels like days? That's what it's like when when you return to your life after travelling with the Doctor. Clara had never wanted to abandon her life on Earth or disrupt her own timeline, which was why she had restricted their travels to certain days of the week. Granted, her Wednesdays sometimes lasted a month or longer, but she really tried to keep in sync with her life. Her travels with the Doctor were a part of her life, not the other way around, and she liked it like that. She wished it had never changed.

Clara removed the first ornament from the Christmas tree in the lounge and felt a numbness in her heart. Christmas hadn't been the same after her mum died, but she had always associated the time of year with hope. She now stared at the handmade ornament her gran had given her after her mum had died like it was some foreign object. She brushed her thumb over the thin layer of glass that protected the old photo of her and her mum and wished that Ellie Oswald could be with her now, tell her what to do. Make her not feel lost.

She felt so lost.

It felt like minutes had passed by the time all of the Christmas decorations were put away and her tree was unceremoniously dumped in the bin outside. Clara sat on her sofa with her knees pulled to her chest, a steaming mug of tea cradled against the arm rest as she stared into space.

It was New Year's Eve. She had never felt less festive in her life, and she usually enjoyed going out with friends to celebrate the new year. At the very least, she'd put on the telly and watch the clock strike twelve as the fireworks went off behind Big Ben.

Part of her just wanted to go to sleep, while the other part of her resented how miserable she was allowing herself to be. After her mother had died, Clara had wasted away countless hours with tears or the vague numbness she now felt, and she had missed out on so much of her life.

So, Clara kept herself busy. And that helped. She aced her A-levels and scored a seat in an excellent university program, from which she graduated with honours.

Shortly after that, she met the Doctor.

Clara finished the last of her tea and then took her empty mug into the kitchen to rinse off. She then glanced around at the mess still leftover from cooking Christmas dinner and set to work scrubbing pans, drying dishes, and putting everything back where it belonged. She didn't stop there; after that, she swept and mopped the floor, cleaned the oven and the stove, and wiped down all of the countertops. She even lit a candle so that the room smelled nice.

It wasn't even half past nine when she checked the clock on the microwave. So she took a shower, a long one where she allowed herself to cry. She didn't know why she was crying anymore, only that her heart still ached. She still had her Doctor, but she would never see his face again, and things between them would never be what they had been. She couldn't stop thinking about what her Gran had said at Christmas, wishing time could stop so she could always see him standing there.

After her shower Clara towelled off, got dressed, and dried her hair. She then spent a good half hour in front of the mirror putting on make up with the hopes that it would inspire her to go out and celebrate the New Year outside of her flat, but after finishing the last touches of her eyeliner, Clara put the kettle on for another cup of tea and returned to the sofa. She grabbed the remote control and was about to switch on the TV when there was a knock at her door.

Her heart raced with hope. She could only think of two people who could be knocking on her door, and one was her neighbour, Mrs Andrews, who was always baking and never remembered to buy any eggs. The other was a man with bushy eyebrows and a Scottish accent she still hadn't gotten used to, but she hoped it was him. God, she hoped it was him.

Clara flung open the door and felt her heart stop when she saw him standing on the other side.

"Clara!"

"You… How did you…?" she stammered, her round eyes boring into the familiar shade of green.

He was wearing his old suit and bow tie, his hair was the same as it had ever been, and most importantly, his lips were stretched into a broad smile above that stupid, ridiculous chin.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

And then she knew. This wasn't the same Doctor she'd said goodbye to when he returned her to her flat. He hadn't found a way to change back to his old body… this was her Doctor from the past.

"You missed Christmas," she said.

"Yeah, sorry. Bit of a mix up with the TARDIS. You know how it goes. Is—Is everything alright?"

"Did I? I hadn't meant to. I was planning on seeing you straightaway on Christmas Eve, but I got a message to come here first."

Clara hugged the edge of the door, unable to tear her eyes away from him. "A message from who?"

"Me, I think. I don't really recognise the handwriting," he said, pulling the psychic paper from his pocket. Clara leaned forward with the hope of seeing what was written there, but in a flash, the Doctor flipped it closed and pocketed it once more. "But it made it clear that I needed to stop what I was doing and pay you a visit, and that I ought to be really, really nice to you. I guess this is because I missed Christmas, isn't it?"

Clara's eyes filled with tears, but before he could see them fall, she launched herself into his arms and hugged him so tightly that he let out a grunt of surprise.

"Ahh, OK," he said, patting her on the back. "Just needed a hug, then?"

She nodded and buried her head into the crook of his neck.

The Doctor released a long, heavy sigh and Clara closed her eyes as he ran his fingers through her hair. "I'm so sorry," he said, and Clara opened her eyes. _Did he know?_ "It's OK, it's OK."

Something in his tone made her believe that he didn't know – how could he know? It was still his future, their future. Clara knew she shouldn't tell him what would happen at Christmas or about the crack at Trenzalore, even though she wanted to. Part of her felt that maybe this was an opportunity to change the future, to keep her old Doctor just the way he was, but she knew deep down that he had been sent by his future self to this moment in time for another reason.

"Hey, it's New Year's Eve, right?" the Doctor said as they peeled away from each other. "We could ring in the new year together, if you'd like. I've brought champagne!" he added with that goofy grin of his.

Clara laughed wetly. The Doctor took her face in his hands and brushed her tears away with his thumbs, his expression hardening as he heaved an almost knowing sigh.

"Clara, what's wrong?"

She glanced away, leaning into the palm of his right hand as she reached up to clutch it with her own. Clara took a deep breath and then looked back up into his eyes, her heart breaking as she acknowledged that this was the last time she would see him like this. _Her_ Doctor. He had been sent to her doorstep to comfort her.

"I'm just… sad."

The Doctor didn't ask why; she knew he was clever enough to put the pieces together. "What can I do to make it better?"

Clara sucked in a shaky breath. "Stay."

The Doctor nodded and Clara took a step back so he could enter her flat and shut the door, and for a moment they just stood there in complete silence. She reached up and tugged on the corner of his bow tie, but didn't realise it until his fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"Clara…"

With desperate quickness, Clara wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him. She pulled back after only a moment and immediately felt like she had made a mistake. The Doctor stared at her with confusion in his eyes.

"Sorry," she breathed softly. "I just wanted to do that once."

The Doctor said nothing, just continued watching her with that concern and curiosity that wrinkled his brow. Clara knew that she would never see this face again, and her heart was already breaking at the thought of having to say goodbye a second time. She had this fear that the Doctor had told his past self to come see her as a means of saying goodbye for good, to soften the blow of abandoning her for the third and final time.

She should shove him out the door and slam it in his face and send him away with a message that showed how she would never forgive him for this, but that wasn't what Clara did.

Instead, she pulled his head back towards hers and kissed him softly, deeply, and threaded her fingers through his hair as he sighed against her lips. His hands remained firm at her waist but he hesitantly returned the kiss, his posture stiff with apprehension.

"Doctor," she pleaded softly, her hot breath mingling with his.

Regret and embarrassment filled her gut in the moments that followed. The Doctor didn't pull away or avert his eyes, but there was something in his silence that warned her that this was wrong. And then slowly, the Doctor dipped his head back towards hers and kissed her with surprising gentleness. Clara closed her eyes and pulled his body snugly to hers and he leaned into her. She lost her footing and stumbled backwards, but the Doctor looped his arm tightly around her waist and braced his other hand against the wall before either of them could fall.

"Clara…" he began, but she could sense the words that would follow.

_We shouldn't do this. This isn't right. I'm not right for you; I'm an old man…_

"I know," she replied, interrupting him before he could say another word. "Believe me, I know."

"Clara," he said, his concerned eyes searching hers. "What…?"

She looped her arms around his waist and sighed against his chest. Clara felt them ending all over again; this was practically a repeat performance of their last goodbye in the TARDIS before he changed… with a few alterations. She thought of how the Doctor had behaved before they'd returned to Trenzalore and searched for some sign that he remembered this night. If he did, she hadn't noticed. She didn't even know what signs to look for.

"You're going to say goodbye to me," she murmured against his chest. "Actually, no—you'll just send me away. But… I will forgive you. Please remember that I will forgive you."

Hot tears dripped from her eyes and soaked into the fabric of his shirt.

"I know why you did it, why you'll do it… but it still h-hurts." She buried her face in his shirt. "You made me feel like I meant nothing to you."

The Doctor's arms tightened around her. "_No_," he said fervently. "No, _no_, Clara. That will never be true. _Ever_."

She could hear a tinge of anger in his voice, anger that was directed at himself. She wanted to believe him, but then she had believed him when he had promised to never send her away again.

Clara placed her hands on either side of his face and smiled sadly.

"Don't take this the wrong way, but…" She released a shaky breath. "I _love_ you."

An almost imperceptible smile graced the corners of his lips. "Is there a wrong way to take that?"

Clara smiled tightly and shook her head, breathing a little laugh. "No. I suppose not."

He kissed the top of her head and Clara wiped the tears from her eyes. She then folded her arms across her chest and looked up at him. "You want to stay and watch telly for a bit?"

"Sure. What's on?" he asked as they walked into the lounge, hand in hand.

"New Year's Eve—a few end of the year specials and concerts, mostly."

"Ah," he replied simply as they both lowered themselves onto the sofa.

They sat with their arms and thighs touching, but Clara refused to cling to him more than she already had. It wasn't her nature. But after she switched on the TV, Clara found herself lowering her head against his shoulder and curling into his side.

Within moments, she drifted to sleep. Clara didn't know how much time had passed before the TV shut off and he was scooping her into his arms.

"Doctor?" she whispered tiredly as he carried her towards her bedroom.

"Shh, go back to sleep."

He lowered her gently onto the bed and remained bent forward so that he could smile down at her and brush her hair from her forehead.

"What time is it?" she asked, her eyes glancing towards the alarm clock on her bedside table.

"A quarter past eleven."

He stood up straight and Clara bolted upright and grabbed him by the wrist. "Don't leave."

"Clara…"

"Please stay."

"I can't stay forever."

"I know," she replied. She bowed her head for a moment and then met his eyes in the darkness. "Stay with me 'til midnight."

The Doctor searched her eyes and then nodded slowly before sitting on the mattress next to her. Clara moved to the other side of the bed, silently inviting him to stretch out beside her. The Doctor did so and pulled her into his arms, and Clara nestled into the familiar warmth of his embrace, her heart aching as she felt the seconds ticking by.

She leaned back against her pillow and smiled at him. Clara stroked the side of his face and the Doctor smiled lightly at her. She told herself to ignore the loneliness she always felt on New Year's Eve, to disregard the fact that they were lying together in bed, and to pay no mind to how she could still feel his lips moving against hers, but she couldn't. Clara leaned in for a kiss and sighed against his lips with relief when the Doctor met her halfway. The bedsprings creaked beneath them as their bodies shifted together, their limbs tangling as they clung to each other with quiet desperation.

Clara would never forget the sound of his heavy breathing, or the softness of his skin beneath her fingers, or the way she shuddered when he touched her with his hands. The Doctor gasped and moaned against her lip, his body heavy against hers as he pushed inside of her.

"Doctor," she gasped.

He sank against her, his rapid breaths warm against her neck as she wrapped her arms and legs snugly around him. Moments later, he raised his head and looked into her eyes with such fear and trepidation.

"Clara, what have we—"

She placed her finger on his lips and shook her head. "Shh. It's OK. Alright?" She smoothed his hair from his brow and smiled softly. "It's all gonna be OK."

The Doctor remained in her arms long after she stopped stroking his hair and long after the clock struck midnight, which was when he'd told himself he should leave. He was having difficulty processing everything that had happened that evening, from the message he'd received on the psychic paper to the moment he pulled himself from her arms.

He knew that something bad was going to happen in the near future, and that he would find a reason to leave her that would hurt her terribly. Clara had assured him that she would forgive him, but knowing as little as he did about the situation and as much as he did about himself, he knew he never would, not after bearing witness to her broken heart.

The Doctor never liked to see the damage, something River had pointed out several times over the course of their time together. He never wanted to hurt anyone, least of all the people he loved, but they were always the ones he hurt the most.

He had tried so hard with Clara, and now he felt like the hope that he could protect her, that he could save her, was all but dashed. But then he flipped open the leather book that housed the psychic paper and read the message again, the one he knew was from his future self.

If there really was no hope to mend what was broken between them, he wouldn't have sent himself to see her that night. The Doctor only hoped that this wasn't the final goodbye between him and Clara, although if it was, it would be a fitting one.

He leaned against the inside of the TARDIS doors and smiled to himself as he remembered the way she'd looked up at him. His hearts broke knowing that he would never see that again, and he didn't need to see the future to know that was true.

The Doctor hesitated before taking off, his fingers hovering over a lever on the console as he dreaded every move he made between now and the times Clara talk about, the time he would leave her.

Perhaps he had needed tonight. Perhaps he wouldn't have been able to leave her without knowing that she would forgive him, that she loved him, that the unspoken connection he had always felt between them was something real and not imagined. That was worth protecting, whatever the cost.

He just hoped she remembered that when she woke up alone, and that she could forgive him one more time for leaving her.


End file.
